


Eames: Stupid Cupid

by swtalmnd



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Crossdressing, Eames' Stupid Cupid Exchange, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, M/M, Magical Realism, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 05:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13675464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd
Summary: Eames is a Cupid. Arthur's Cupid, to be precise. And Arthur's love life is on the emergency watch list.





	Eames: Stupid Cupid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brookebond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/gifts).



> Thank you to isidore13, QueenThayet, and kate_the_reader for cheerreading, beta reading, and sanity checks. All remaining insanity is my own.

Arthur woke up on Valentine's Day to find a man perched on the foot of his bed. This was unusual enough, given the desert of Arthur's love life, but this man was wearing nothing but a golden-belted toga of very sheer white chiffon that left little to the imagination, some kind of white leather strappy thing, and a pair of impressively built angel wings. His muscular body was covered in what looked like love poetry, inked willy-nilly onto tanned skin. He had windblown brown hair, changeable green eyes, and charmingly crooked teeth surrounded by the lushest lips Arthur had seen on a man in ages.

"Good morning, darling," he said. His accent was delightfully British.

"I have no idea what's going on here," said Arthur, sitting up in bed, "but I hope it's something good, because I'm going to be very disappointed that someone as hot as you is here to steal my stuff."

"Oh, Arthur, I'm here for you, I assure you," said the man. He shifted so that the morning light hit the contours of his body intriguingly, bathing him in an aura of gold and not so incidentally rendering his clothing completely pointless. Arthur was reluctantly impressed.

Arthur's penis was a lot less reluctantly impressed, and threatening to make a tent of the bedclothes.

He sat up in bed and brought his knees up to make a nice, disguising tent of the covers and asked, "I'm not actually reassured by that. Is this a very kinky mafia hit? Are you a stripper? Because if you're a stripper, you kind of forgot to wear anything worth stripping off." Arthur was aware he was babbling, and also aware that this is why he had so few dates.

The man looked charmed. "Darling, don't hide from me! I'm your Cupid, you're supposed to have that reaction to me."

"You're my... what? Oh, god, this is a stripper thing, isn't it?" Arthur facepalmed. "Did Ariadne give you a key?"

"You know the maze goddess?" he said, looking impressed for a brief moment before his brows knit. "No, wait, that's your friend dating the French domme. Anyway, no; I'm your Cupid so I don't need a key to manifest on my own holiday."

"You don't look like Cupid," said Arthur, trying to ignore just how little he resembled a chubby baby in a diaper.

"I'm Eames," he said, sitting next to Arthur on the bed, warm and close. "Cupid's more of a job description."

"Christ, I need coffee for this," said Arthur, rubbing his hands over his face and clearing the sleep from his eyes.

"Easy enough," said Eames, and then there was a tray of breakfast in front of Arthur and a fluffy pile of extra pillows behind him. "Breakfast in bed."

Arthur blinked and shifted until he was comfortable, and then pressed the French press and poured himself some coffee. "Is this the usual Cupid schtick, or am I special because I haven't had a date in some nebulous amount of time?"

"You're definitely on the emergency watch list," said Eames, stealing a maple bar and licking a bit of frosting off one end. "To be honest, I was just trying to figure out how I could get you to fall in love if you weren't going to leave the house when you caught me."

Arthur couldn't help but stare as that lush mouth opened wide and took in an obscene amount of donut before biting down. Arthur shivered and drank more coffee. "If I wasn't supposed to see you, why are you dressed like a high-class porn star?"

Eames laughed delightedly, licking maple frosting off his mouth and fingers shamelessly. "Well, I'm not exactly suited to running around in a diaper, am I?" he teased, eyes sparking with color and life.

"That doesn't explain why you're," Arthur gestured with his free hand at the totality of Eames' ridiculous hotness, "you." He kept his hand from doing any other, possibly more obscene gestures by picking up a heart-shaped pastry that proved to have the best tart cherry filling he'd eaten in years.

"I think there's something about matching us up with people who want the image of Cupid we present?" said Eames. He shrugged. "I get all sorts, so I'm not really sure. No one's spotted me in years, I hope they don't make me take a remedial seminar."

Arthur was almost too distracted by the danish to take in that last. "What, really? Do you have to wear the outfit?"

Eames' laugh was infections, warm and delighted and just a bit silly in ways that made things low in Arthur's body grow more insistent about how long it had been since he'd seen to non-food-related hungers. "No, darling, this is only for the holiday. I could wear something else, if you'd prefer."

Another of those strange moments where everything changed between heartbeats, and Eames was instead wearing white lace lingerie that contrasted beautifully with his skin and tattoos. He had a strappy little bralette that made intriguing patterns on his skin, a lace garter belt and lace-topped white stockings, and beautiful knickers that were white lace in front and row after row of ruffles on the behind when Eames turned. The wings had vanished, leaving yet more tattooed skin over delicious muscles and giving Arthur an unobstructed view of said behind.

Arthur nearly choked on his breakfast. "Christ, Eames, you can't just... Are you trying to kill me?" Arthur had never told anyone about his thing for lingerie, but he supposed his browser history gave him away, even if there wasn't a more magical explanation.

"Oh, I'm sorry, petal, I thought you'd... Ah. Yes, well, I'm glad you like it?" Eames had come over to pat Arthur on his back and discovered the tent poking into the edge of the bed tray.

"Not helping," said Arthur with a glare. He finished off his coffee and rubbed his face with his hands again, hoping for it all to have been a dream. When he looked up, all that seemed to have changed was that the lace stretched over Eames' cock was under even more strain.

"I might do," said Eames, voice both rough and a bit abstracted. His hand on Arthur's back seemed to be caressing more than patting now, and it was definitely not helping the situation in Arthur's pants. "It's not an orthodox approach, but it would certainly do the trick."

"What would?" Arthur asked, frustrated and horny and now out of coffee as well.

Eames turned a blinding grin on him. "Why don't I just be your Valentine?"

Arthur swallowed. "Is that allowed? I mean... aren't you supposed to be finding me Mr. Right?"

Eames looked affronted. "You don't think I could be Mr. Right?" he asked, arms a bit ridiculous crossed over his lace-decorated chest.

"I thought you were offering to be, you know, Mr. Right Now," said Arthur sheepishly. "Maybe I need more coffee."

Eames waved his hand and Arthur's cup was refilled just as before. "I'm not allowed to encourage such things," he said, looking a different sort of offended now. "Cupids are about love, Arthur, not sex."

"Says the man dressed in my favorite lingerie set," said Arthur, gesturing. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's definitely adding to the allure that you want, I mean, that you're willing, but... I don't know anything about you."

"Finish your breakfast, petal," Eames replied, relaxing again now that Arthur had moved back to flustered and wasn't outright rejecting Eames' proposal. "You'll need the energy."

"All right, but talk to me?" Arthur picked up some buttery toast cut into the shape of a heart to dip into his egg yolks and took a bite of his perfectly-done breakfast. "Tell me what you do when you're not doing this."

"I bought a historical house that I'm restoring," said Eames. "Plus the tattoos, of course, and I do kickboxing for my cardio."

Arthur blinked. "What, really? What era house?" he asked. The food was delicious, and Eames was, suddenly, more interesting than just an apparition, a story he'd never tell anyone, or even an extensive entry in his spank bank. Eames was a person.

"Oh, well," Eames looked adorably shy, and he delayed by conjuring himself a fancy cappuccino with a perfect heart on top to drink. "I, um, I have one of those Victorian row houses, you know, the painted ladies along the hills? It's not all pink or anything, though there's touches, of course, well, more of a coral and cream."

Arthur leaned in and kissed Eames softly, pressing his lips to the cupid's-bow mouth that he'd been admiring since Eames appeared. "It sounds amazing. I've always wanted one of those, but couldn't afford it."

"Ah, well, I got a deal on mine because it was basically condemned," said Eames, laughing. "The other Cupids helped me get it up to code, with all our magic we convinced the house it would be loved again."

"That's weirdly sweet," said Arthur. "Do you have magic all year?" He'd gotten most of the way through his eggs and was starting to feel like other parts of him were interested in Eames besides his dick.

Not that his dick was wrong or didn't get a majority vote sometimes, but still.

Eames shrugged. "Less of it, and we lend some services around Christmas for that sort of love, plus there's spring flings and summer love, but we got special permission since I needed someplace to live." Eames looked a little bit proud at that. "I've done most of the work inside with my own two hands, though."

"Well, if you really are Mr. Right, I'll get to see it in person?" That still wasn't real to Arthur, not only that he had a Cupid but that his Cupid liked him enough to be his, to keep him. To want to try to love him.

"I'd love to show you," said Eames, smiling brightly. He bit his lip and got a naughty little boy look before asking, "We'll still shag first, though, right?"

Arthur burst out laughing. "Yeah, oh yeah. There is no way you're going to be here, in my bedroom, _in that outfit,_ offering me sex and not get laid."

Eames leaned in and kissed Arthur again, not just a soft peck but a proper deep kiss this time, a slow, greedy exploration of the way their mouths fit together. "Are you finished with breakfast, petal?"

"Yeah," said Arthur, downing the last of his coffee and finding his mouth was suddenly minty fresh. "I really am."

The tray vanished and Eames grinned. "Will you wear the red one for me, with all the silk?" he asked.

Arthur knew exactly what Eames meant and he went almost as red as the lingerie in question, but nodded. "Yeah, for you," he said. The sensation was strange, pajamas vanishing and silk in their place, his legs cool for a moment and then covered in red thigh-highs, the little tap pants cupping him loosely and the camisole top with its heart-shaped cutout hugging closely to his lean body. The red silk shone against his skin, pale despite the time he spent outside running, and he found himself posing demurely for Eames' admiration. "Is it good?"

Eames licked his lips and swallowed. "Really, really good," he said, climbing into bed to drape himself over Arthur's body, lace and silk, white and red, tan and pale, muscular and lean. "You're so gorgeous, Arthur, how lucky am I to have a chance to be yours?"

Arthur groaned and pulled him down into another filthy kiss. "I think you're mistaking my luck for yours, I mean, how many men get to fall in love with their own Cupid?"

Eames laughed again and rubbed his cock against Arthur's, making the pouch of the tap pants tighten against his balls. "Only you, my love."

Arthur let himself fulfill the fantasies running rampant in his head, running his hands over Eames' body, touching the lace and tattoos and bare skin with equal fascination. He ran his hands down the strong back and buried his fingers in the scratchy-soft ruffles, cupping Eames' impressively pert derriere and encouraging him to grind down again.

They moaned and rubbed for long enough that Arthur was worried they'd both ruin their lingerie, his whole body tingling from desire, from the silk and lace and Eames' scruff against his skin, and from the dawning hope that this wasn't a dream and he was getting a magic boyfriend out of the deal.

Arthur flipped them over and kissed Eames again. "I want to suck you off," said Arthur. "If you don't vanish after you've come, I'll know you're real."

"Arthur, yes," breathed Eames, his face full of what Arthur hoped was adoration.

Instead of letting himself wonder how the whole Cupid-in-love thing worked, he slid down Eames' body and rubbed his face against the damp, strained lace covering Eames' plump cock. Arthur didn't like to think of himself as a size queen, but he sighed with pure joy when Eames' cock sprang free a moment later, thick and long and deliciously uncut. Eames started to say something, but it turned into a strangled moan when Arthur swallowed down the first few inches, unable to resist a moment longer.

Eames filled Arthur's mouth and, as soon as he got the angle right, his throat as well, and Arthur pulled out all his best tricks for the occasion. His hands and mouth worked to get Eames off, and he felt himself shiver with lust to feel that telltale pulse of come through Eames' cock before it flooded his mouth. Arthur swallowed and swallowed, oddly pleased to find it tasted like everyone else's, more or less, rather than strawberry vanilla or something.

"How," said Eames, panting, "How do you not have a boyfriend already?"

Arthur smirked. "I'm high-maintenance." He slid back up Eames' body, leaving his cock obscenely sprawled in the ruin of lace before kissing Eames thoroughly. "You're still here."

"I'm never leaving," said Eames fervently. "As soon as I whisk you off to my lovely Victorian row house, you and I are going to spend 364 days a year in bed."

Arthur laughed happily. "That sounds like an excellent future plan, but for this day I think I'd like your tongue, your fingers, and then your cock up my ass."

"That, my darling, will be very much my pleasure." Eames flipped them back over and his wings unfurled above them, cocooning them in feathers and dimness while they kissed. "Would you like to be on your front or back while I thoroughly worship your gorgeous arse?"

"Front, please, with a pillow under my hips," said Arthur. "But first, can I..." He reached out towards one wing, fascinated with just how real it was, the feathers layered like a proper bird's wing and not some cheesy prop, all different sizes and laying neatly together.

"Be gentle," said Eames, but he nodded.

Arthur stroked with the grain, feeling the warmth and fragility under his hand, the spring of the quills and the texture of the feathers, strong and soft at once. "Are these only for today?"

"I can call them anytime," said Eames, "but I don't wear them out to the shops or anything."

Arthur sighed and pulled Eames into a kiss. "I just wanted to make sure this wasn't my only chance to be fucked under them."

"I promise all the magical sex you want," said Eames, voice a little hoarse. "You really like them?"

"Don't be dumb, they're amazing," said Arthur, licking Eames' nose teasingly. "You have to know how cool it is that you have real wings."

"It is pretty cool," said Eames, relaxing. "I like having them out when I can."

"I approve of this life choice." Arthur kissed him again, deep and slow despite his own rather urgent need. He didn't want to rush this, wanted to savor every weird moment of falling in love with his Cupid. "Wait, did you shoot me or whatever?"

"Oh, um," Eames thought about it, then shrugged. "I may have forgotten, but we don't seem to be having any trouble falling in love."

Arthur laughed. "My stupid Cupid, can you tell I'm already half in love?"

"Oh, at least 57%," teased Eames right back. "I can see it if I concentrate, it's a good connection. Strong."

"Hopefully it'll last," said Arthur, kissing him again there in the warm tent of Eames' wings. "Once I move into your house, you're never getting rid of me."

"Sounds perfect." Eames paused, then grinned. "I suppose I did shoot you, anyway, just not with an arrow."

Arthur did the only thing he could. He hit Eames with a pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> Brooke's lovely, romantic prompt was "breakfast in bed" and no, I don't know how I got from there to here, either.


End file.
